A Very Foolish Dream
by Leather-and-Pearls
Summary: In which a Very Fake Doctor makes a Villainous, Fiendish Decision regarding the Vexatious, Fiery Daughter of his greatest enemies. A story of Vanity, Fury, and Desire. (Rated T now, possibly M later)


The supply closet was dark, with only a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that cast a paltry, sickening yellow glow over the dusty plastic tubs of syringes, stacked boxes of latex gloves, and the intimidating bulkiness of discarded surgical machines. It also illuminated the hunched backs of two of the three Bauldelaire orphans, who, with squinted eyes and craned necks, were very focused on the uncooked pasta spilled out before them.

"_Darksy!_", huffed Sunny, which meant something along the lines of '_this is not optimal lighting for figuring out anagrams with alphabet pasta'._

"You're right," Klaus agreed, his long, scholarly finger running down the patient list that the siblings had nicked from the Volunteers Fighting Disease. "But we don't have a choice."

It was true - every hallway, doctor's lounge, and waiting room in Heimlich Hospital was crawling with Olaf's henchman. The supply closet, despite its very frustrating dimness, was the only safe place in which the Bauldelaires could try to figure out which of the hospital's many rooms held their imprisoned eldest sibling. The answer was somewhere on the patient roster.

Klaus had a pen in his hand and was quickly crossing out names in a flourish of red ink. "I read a book once on linguistics," he said, straightening his glasses. "In the English language, some of the least commonly used letters are V, B, and D - all of which are found in the name 'Violet Baudelaire'. We can save time by eliminating any patient names that don't have those three letters. We can also probably assume that Olaf wouldn't have given her a boy's name."

Sunny nodded and bit her lower lip in concentration as she tried very hard to remember the letters in her sister's name and to pick them out of the pile of dry pasta with her chubby little fingers. The tiny chef could not help but think that despite its novelty appeal, alphabet was a terrible form for pasta and would be abysmal at holding any sort of rich sauce.

"Ava Bernaurd? Barbara Vanderbilt? Olivia Bader?" Each name was followed by a fervent flurry of Klaus' hands as he attempted, and failed, to find the anagram. He let out a despairing groan at the realization there were about a hundred names still to rifle through and Violet's safety was probably decreasing every minute she spent in Olaf's clutches. Out of all the hospitals of the world, it just figured they had to track down their sister in the largest institution on this side of the Mortmain Mountains.

"_Halfsibop_", Sunny said, grabbing for the patient list and ripping the pages apart at the corner staple to divide the workload. Klaus knew his sister was only able to read small words, but she knew the alphabet and could match letters well-enough, even if she couldn't read the harder names.

For the next five minutes, the only sound in the dark little supply closet was the smooth slide of pasta against the steel table, the scratch of a pen's rollerball, and the rustle of paper as the younger Baudelaires made their way through the list. Finally, Sunny broke the silence with a triumphant gurgle, and excitedly pointed to the name assembled before her.

"Laura V. Bleediotie!" Klaus read excitedly, realizing that the name did indeed use all the letters found in that of his older sister's. He victoriously kissed his younger sister on the top of her blonde head. "Sunny, you're a genius! What's the room number?"

"922!" Sunny supplied, smiling with a child's pride at having figured out a puzzle the quickest. It didn't happen often in the Bauldelaire family, as the older siblings were so intellectually gifted.

"Quick," Klaus said, grabbing the white lab coat they'd filched early in the day as a maske-shift disguise. "We have to run."

_Clap….clap….clap! _

The mocking slow clap came from the other side of the supply door, and Klaus' blood ran cold and his heart lurched into a frenzy as the claps were followed by a shrill string of villainous, female cackling. He dropped the coat. Sunny whimpered.

"You orphans think you are so very smart, don't you?" the unmistakable voice of Esme Squalor cooed from the hallway. The Baudelaires could hear her pointed nails scraping leisurely against the door as she spoke, and though they could not see her, it was easy for them to imagine her tottering in that ridiculous nurse's uniform on her high, knife-blade heels, giving a nauseating smile of perfect teeth and faux sweetness through the metal door as if she could see them. "You'll never find your darling sister. I know you truly believed that _children_ could outsmart grown-ups. But we're always not just a _step_, but a _mile_ ahead of you."

Klaus and Sunny cringed as the scraping of Esme's nails grew more sharp and the sugary tone seeped out of her voice until it became a hissing whisper. "You are in the middle of a very fucking dangerous game," she swore, her red lips surely almost touching the door, "And I am a much better player."

Her final words were dramatically punctuated by the metallic clunk of a deadbolt in the door lock. The nightmarish noise seemed to echo around the closet as Klaus and Sunny looked at each other in a moment of silent despair. In the distance, the tapping of Esme's stiletto heels on the hospital tile faded as she made her way down the hallway.

"Stuck?" Sunny asked her brother, with wide eyes. Her question was small and short, but filled with all the dread that a baby voice could muster.

Klaus leapt towards the door in a panic. His hand closed around the silver doorknob. The supply closet's lock was strong and firm, presumably for making sure needles and expensive machinery weren't stolen from the hospital. It wouldn't budge. "No, no, _no!_" he screamed. "We were..._so_..._close_!" With each word he slammed the full force of his adolescent weight into the metal door, which absorbed the impact with a soft, dissatisfying thud.

"Help!" Sunny yelled at the top of her little lungs, and Klaus joined in with pleas of his own, continuing to hammer at the door with his fist. The sole lightbulb above their heads swayed, casting anxious, sweeping shadows throughout the small space. They carried on for what felt like forever, their clamor infuriatingly muffled by the heavy metal. No one answered.

With raw throats and bruised arms, Sunny and Klaus slid to the floor in defeat, their backs resting against the cool door that had once shielded them from Olaf's henchmen, but now was the only obstacle between them and Violet. There was no window, no air vent, no gap under the door via which they could try to unlock it from the outside with the right tool. Only a faint red, blinking light cast over the tops of their heads from the door's hospital ID scanner - a sickening, teasing reminder that a simple plastic card could release them, if only they had one.

"_Violetteskaj"_, Sunny whispered, which roughly translated to, '_isn't it ironic that Violet would know how to escape?' _Her lower lip wobbled.

Frustrated tears welled up in Klaus' brown eyes with the realization that Sunny was right. He had let down Violet. She had saved them all, time and time again in far stickier situations, and he couldn't get out of a supply closet. A rivet of hot shame rolled down his cheek and splashed on the tile. Where was Violet? What were they doing to her? The uncertainty clawed at his heart, made him shiver.

The uncertainty did not last long.

With a loud crackle that made Sunny and Klaus jump, the hospital intercom came to life. A few hesitant thumps followed, as though somewhere in the hospital a long, boney, spindly finger was drumming out a staccato beat on the head of a microphone to test its functionality. _Thump, the-the-thump, thump_. Then the sound of a throat clearing.

"Hello, hello, _hellooo_..." The terrible voice cracked around the intercom's static. The Bauldelaire children in the closet shuddered at the mental image of shiny eyes, ankle tattoos, and wild hair that was conjured by the all-too-familiar greeting.

"This is Dr. Matthais Medical-School. Will Nurse Cassandra Ursula, uh...Elliandra-_whatever-her-damn-name-is_ please report to the surgical theater _now_?" The command sounded annoyed. "The cranioectomy of Laura V. Bleediotie is behind schedule."

Klaus and Sunny looked at each other, frozen. "Did he say Laura V. Bleediotie?" Klaus asked, already knowing the answer. "But that's Violet!"

"_Cranio?" _Sunny asked warily, her tiny hands partially splayed over her eyes.

Klaus' brow darkened in horror. The extent of Olaf's treachery should have no longer shocked him, but it nonetheless managed to every single time. "_Cranio_ means head," he said aloud in disgust, his eyes dead as he stared at the far end of the tiny closet. "They're going to cut her head off, Sunny."


End file.
